Starting Over
by luminescentglow
Summary: I sit up violently and pound my unharmed hand against the wall. This pain is bearable, barely noticeable. The pain I feel in regards to losing the people I love is excruciating, inescapable and heart-breaking. Post Revolution, Rated M
1. Prologue

I'm huddled, absolutely terrified, in the corner of the study. I can't move a muscle or utter a single word because I am vividly reliving the conversation I had with President Snow so many months ago in this exact room. I shouldn't have come in here. But I'd heard a noise and was curious. I tuck myself further into the corner as specks begin to swim across my vision and my breathing becomes rapid and shallower. It only takes one memory to set off all the others. Suddenly I'm in the arena where I played my first Hunger Games. The tracker jackers are buzzing around me. I'm running away from the mutts but I'm not fast enough and one of them is tearing at my legs. Rue is being brutally speared before my very eyes. I let out a scream and thrash about, willing the evil to leave. In the process I lacerate my hand on a nearby, unidentifiable object. Darkness begins to take me and as I give in to it, I assume that I've somehow knocked myself out.

I wake up to find the light streaming in through the window has dimmed; the day is almost over. I try to remember where I am, how I got there and it's then I hear the noise again, the noise that led me into this forbidden room to begin with. The events of the day come rushing back to me. I slowly pull my head up off the floor and I search the study. A sudden movement to my left sends adrenaline pumping through my veins and a warning bell goes off in my mind. Survival is key and showing weakness must be avoided at all costs. I find myself reaching for a bow, or any sort of weapon that can help ensure my safety. Simultaneously, I'm meticulously planning my escape. I know there isn't much time until the intruder makes its presence known. There isn't much time until they find me. I'm racking my brain for who it might be when I hear the noise again, but this time accompanied by a meow. It takes a while for relief to overcome me.

It's only Buttercup. I should have drowned that cat when I had the chance. But then, I never imagined we'd ever get along. I shrug away the thoughts of annoyance that have surfaced and instead realize that in a way I am grateful for the ball of fur. Buttercup can be a nuisance but at least some things will never change. As I relax, he stalks on over to me and rubs his face against mine. He then curls up beside me on the floor and I lay my head back down and stroke his ratty fur through a few times. I can feel the tension beginning to drain out of my body. I give him an extra pat or two and am rewarded with a warm, tender mewling. It's been different between us without her.

My eyes swim with tears as memories of Prim swirl about in my mind. I see the way her blond hair cascaded down her back, her kind, smiling eyes, her love for people and the practice of caring for others. The tears turn to anger as I once again realize that she'll never breathe air, feel a lone dandelion brush the bottom of her feet or touch Buttercup's rough coat with her delicate fingers again. I sit up violently and pound my unharmed hand against the wall. Buttercup hisses and runs out of the study as my hand goes through the wall due to a particularly hard punch. This pain is bearable, barely noticeable. The pain I feel in regards to losing Prim is excruciating, inescapable and heart-breaking. I fall apart into gut-wrenching sobs. In the back of my mind, I'm aware of a door opening and footsteps approaching, but the pain in my heart is too intense to allow me to care.

"Katniss, shhh, Katniss. It's alright. I'm here now," I feel myself being lifted off the floor by strong arms. I know that voice. The pain somewhat recedes, albeit momentarily. It's sure to find me again, and soon.

Once I'm safely in his arms, I press my face against his chest, letting his shirt absorb my tears. My arms wrap securely around his neck as he carries me away from the study and up to my bedroom. When there, he gently lays me down onto the bed and kneels beside it. He softly strokes my hair, and I open my eyes only to find his staring right back. His thumb finds my cheek and he wipes away the salty liquid still pouring from my eyes.

"Katniss," it's almost a whisper, more like a breathy sigh. I continue to gaze into his azure eyes.

"It should have been me, Peeta," is the only reply I manage to coax out of my hoarse throat before I'm lost in a haze of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sorry it took this long to update! Enjoy. **

Four sweet notes hang in the air. White flowers are descending reverently, raining down from the heavens. The light in this majestic place is bright and tinkering and manages to fill the entire sky. There's a peace in this land that I haven't felt in such a long time. The birds continue their lilting melody and I know that the work is over. It's a signal to let go, to sail away with the flowers in the breeze. The light begins to dim. I'm aware of other sounds. I see the last of the flowers fall. I take in a deep breath. I smell the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread.

My eyes open. I don't know how long I've been asleep until I look out my bedroom window. The sun is high in the sky; it must be almost midday. I am shocked. I have not slept this soundly since a time that my mind cannot now remember. Where were the horror-filled nightmares? The ghoulish faces of those I killed or those whose death I witnessed, even aided in? I grasp at the fading remnants of my serene dream, willing the evil memories to leave before they begin to crowd my mind and overcome it. I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes in the process and remain focused on the brilliant light and fragrant blossoms fluttering in the wind.

With my sanity momentarily in check, I rouse myself and walk towards the door. As I reach for the handle, I notice that my right hand is securely wrapped in bandages. I lift my left hand and realize that it has been taken care of as well. A few stitches can be seen crisscrossing the cut that adorns it. I take a few moments to silently thank the person who has performed this kindness. My thoughts are interrupted by a noise coming from the direction of the kitchen. The sound appears to be someone attempting to sing. I crack the tiniest smile.

Once I make it downstairs, my nose takes the lead instead of my feet. My stomach gurgles in anticipation as I reach the kitchen and I become confused. Food is one thing that I have not been lacking of late, though it usually takes quite a lot of effort on my part to consume it. This is why I am caught off guard by my sudden hunger. Where has it come from? I push away the confounding thoughts.

I am greeted by Greasy Sae. So it has been her humming away as she prepared yet another large meal for me. She's probably the one who took care of my hands as well. Without her continual care and ensuring that I ate, I probably would have slowly waned away to nothing in my first weeks back in District 12.

You would think that no one would care if I lived or not. Apparently someone does. Maybe it was my mother's way of convincing herself she could leave. Find a babysitter for Katniss and then it wouldn't be on her conscious if I decided to starve myself to death or go mentally insane. Maybe it sounds cruel and harsh to interpret my mother this way, but I can't help but think these thoughts about her. She has always been able to desert the ones she loves in times when they needed her most. And she isn't about to change.

Greasy Sae directs me to the dining room table. I pull out a worn chair and sit, watching as she runs back and forth between me and the kitchen. She's placed freshly cooked wild turkey, eggs, a slab of cheese and some garden vegetables on the table before me. I'm not sure where she got the turkey. I haven't been outside this house let alone hunting since I returned.

The smells are intoxicating and I know I won't be able to wait a minute longer. I begin to eat even before she's laid everything out. I hear her chuckle and look up to see her standing in the kitchen doorway watching me. I nod appreciatively at her, before scooping another large portion of food into my mouth. When she brings the bread out, I stop short. I ask her where she learned to make bread.

"Not mine" is all she says, and I know in my heart that this is Peeta's bread. I come to the surprising conclusion that last night was an actual reality.

Ever since Peeta returned, things have been strained between us. After the initial shock of finding him in my yard planting primroses outside of my house, I tried to distance myself. I can't describe the pain I feel when I look into his eyes and don't see the complete adoration there that I once did. When he used to look at me, he made me feel loved and completely accepted for who I was.

I shake my head to clear these thoughts. I'm still partially convinced that last night was a dream because the keen stare I'd seen on his face had made me feel like I was the only person in this world worth caring for. It was too good to be true. He's finally discovered who I really am. A despicable creature with no good qualities left to show.

I roughly shove my plate away from me. My appetite has vanished. I knew the momentary happiness I found after learning I slept through the night wouldn't last. I'm no longer allowed to be carefree and joyful. This revelation both depresses and angers me. In the end, the anger wins the battle raging on inside me.

I can feel the heat beginning to surface; the blood begins to boil in my veins. I abruptly stand up and my eyes lock on the bread. I pick up the loaf and chuck it as hard as I can with my damaged hands at the nearest window. It thumps against the glass but only falls to the floor.

I must hurt something. I want something to hurt like I hurt. I grab an object I know will be destructive and whip it through the targeted window. The sound of glass shattering reminds me of my heart. There's only so much pain I can take until it is broken beyond repair.

Greasy Sae pokes her head out from behind the kitchen doorframe a few moments after the pieces of glass have all found the ground. I perceive a miniscule amount of fear in her eyes, but, for the most part, all I can discern is sympathy. Her eyes are full of sympathy for the girl who lost her father and now her sister, sympathy for the girl whose mother has abandoned her and sympathy for the girl whose only friends have either died because of her or simply denied her. And I absolutely loathe it.

I don't want her compassion or anyone else's. I don't deserve it. Without a second thought, I dash to the front hall. I catch sight of my hunting jacket, boots and game bag. I quickly don them and then race out the door, slamming it hard, never looking back.

I don't know where I'm headed at first. All I know is that I have to get away. It's a fleeting thought but I think that maybe my mother got it right when she decided not to return here. I have to leave behind District 12. There are too many memories in this place. In the back of my mind I remember the new ruling President Paylor's request that I be kept in District 12 until I am fully rehabilitated. But I shrug it off, knowing full well that I haven't contacted Dr. Aurelius in weeks, even months. What's the point in pretending anymore? I know I will never recover.

I run down the path that leads towards what is left of the old town square, desperate to get away from the Victor's Village and those who reside there. My brain wants me to keep running, to press on before I give into weakness and turn around. It's screaming at me to comply and get as far away as possible from here as I can. But my heart tells me I need to go to the Seam one last time before I leave District 12 for good.

Though there are no longer any houses, only ruins, the Seam represents my childhood. The memories of innocence choke me. I yearn to regain the simplistic days with my old routine and ache for the time when my father was alive. Sure, life had never been perfect but at least back then I had known where I belonged. I had never killed anyone. The only threats I had posed had been stealing from richer families' garbage bins and selling game through the Hob.

It's selfish to think these thoughts. All of Panem is better off without the Hunger Games. President Snow's evil is no more. But I can't help but want my old life back. I miss the days where I'd whispered about the evil of the Capitol with only Gale, and I feverishly want to block out the days where I'd been the face of a revolution.

My feet still remember all of the least used paths scattered about the district. So once I reach the ending of the main road to town, I keep to the shadows and overgrown trails. To the returning people of District 12, I am a mystery. A hidden figure, lost in her own dark world. I don't want to be seen. I don't want to be known. I want to remain a whisper of the past.

Eventually I am standing in the remains of my old house. Gray ash still lingers and pieces of bricks from the chimney lay in a pile. All I can do is stare. The anger that was controlling my earlier movement has subsided. In its place is weakness. My strength has greatly decreased over the months of being holed up inside. I am tired physically. But the weakness that brings me to my knees is the crushing feeling of being utterly alone. My father is gone. My Prim is gone. My mother has left me. Gale has left me. Cinna, Rue, Finnick, the list is endless.

My mind is filling with memories, voices, and flashes of faces. The people I loved are crying out in pain, being brutally murdered, gasping for air, and there is nothing I can do to save them. Desperation fills me. I'm about to lose control of my emotions entirely when I hear movement to my right. I'm pulled out of my reverie in an attempt to face reality. I jump to my feet and turn towards the direction of the sound. I'm fast, but not fast enough. All I catch is a glimpse of blond hair, flowing in the wind, before disappearing behind a nearby tree.

"Prim!" The exclamation is out of my mouth before I can even process what is happening. I eagerly shout and run towards the vision.

But there is no response. I sprint towards the tree. There is nothing there. I call out again. There is still no response. Before long, I'm spinning madly in circles, desperately searching, seeking in hopes of finding the impossible. My voice cries out endlessly, each time becoming more and more hysterical until the sobs overtake me and I can't form words. The world is beginning to slip away when someone speaks.

"Katniss?" I hear my name, and I distinctively know that it is not Prim's voice. It is someone else entirely. There's a moment of complete silence before the sound of feet scraping the dirt and debris echoes in the stillness. I suddenly feel hands grabbing mine.

When I've somewhat regained a grip on reality, I get the courage to look up and find the one person I don't want to see at this exact point in time staring down at me. He looks concerned. There is sympathy in his eyes, as well, and my earlier anger begins to simmer once again. I can feel that my heart wants me to let go, to share the pain I feel, but I don't. I don't know how. I don't know if I will ever be able to. I settle for a cold exterior and withhold all emotion. I yank my hands free from his grasp and take a few steps backwards.

"What are you doing here, Peeta?" I say my voice sounding cruel even to my own ears. I can see him struggling to find words, which is very unlike the old him, as he stares at his now empty hands.

"Greasy Sae said you ran off, she was worried…I…I didn't know what else to do but follow you…to make sure…" he trails off.

"To make sure what? That I wasn't going to murder the townspeople? Or shoot a few more government officials? I can take care of myself, Peeta." I reply icily with hints of sarcasm. "And why do you even care?" I can't help but add, as curiosity finds its way into my mind. He's supposed to hate me.

"Katniss…I, I just want us to help each other. When I heard you screaming last night…I just…you see…Dr. Aurelius says that I should talk to you. He says it would help in my healing process, and…" I don't let him finish.

"Dr. Aurelius can go to hell! I don't need his help and I especially do not need yours!" I do my best to yell and sound convincing. I turn and begin walking at a fast pace towards the fence and what lies beyond. I've already hurt Peeta enough. This will be the last time. It's best he forget me.

"Katniss, come back! Katniss, please…wait up!" I hear him shout, and I can't help but pause momentarily and look back only to see him limping, trying to keep up.

I think of how it's my fault he lost his leg. It's my fault that District 12 was targeted and bombed, destroying his entire family. It's my fault that he's had his heart broken numerous times. I think of Haymitch and how he's told me on many occasions that I don't deserve Peeta. And I know in my heart that Haymitch has been telling the truth all along. I could never deserve Peeta. Even in his hijacked state of mind he is a much better person than I could ever be. So, I let him catch up to me. It's time to end this and sever whatever ties I have left to him, but where to start?

"I can't help you, Peeta." This is the only thing I can think of to deter him. My voice cracks as I say his name and I can't look him in the eye. He doesn't give up.

"Katniss, please. Help. I'm trying to find myself. I'm trying to remember who I was. My memories are all distorted. My life is in bits and pieces. I want to be whole again. I want to know the truth. I'm begging you to help me," he replies, his voice breaking in the middle of his plea. It takes everything in me not to fall apart.

I glance up at his face once again, only this time I really look at it. His current expression is laced with pain. His eyes are a dark blue, almost black. His blond hair is greasy and has grown so long that his bangs fall in his eyes. His complexion is pale, filled with blotches of burn marks, scars and wounds from war. He is no longer the smiling, confident boy I met years ago. His innocence has been betrayed by the Capitol. He's been forced to kill. His mind is not his own. And yet, after seeing and considering all of this, I still feel a tug on my heart. I cannot forget my boy with the bread.

"But you hate me," I state in a small voice. This is my last defense. He's about to respond when a voice interrupts and startles us both. I'd been so wrapped up in my discussion with Peeta, I hadn't heard anyone approaching.

"He doesn't hate you, Sweetheart. He's just a mess, a complete and utter mess." It's Haymitch. He smells awful and you can tell he's already been drinking today.

"How did you find us?" I bluntly question, ignoring his comment regarding Peeta.

"Greasy Sae told me where she thought you'd be. And when she told me that she'd sent Peeta to look for you and that you two weren't back yet I got a little anxious. So I thought I'd come out here and see for myself what was happening." He takes a momentary pause before continuing. "My question is this, Katniss. What were you doing or going to do before we found you?" I feel my face go red and I turn away. There's a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before I hear Haymitch speak again.

"Plannin' on skippin' town on us, were you Sweetheart?" I don't give an answer which only confirms his suspicions. "I always knew you were anti-social, bland and not very personable but I didn't take you as a coward," he says brusquely.

Haymitch slowly closes the distance between us and waits for me to meet his eyes. When I finally do, he says "Didn't think you'd ever want to be like your mother." This last comment stuns me and the shock is most definitely apparent on my face. How dare he.

The problem with Haymitch is that he's too smart. No wonder he has few friends. Even with alcohol in his system, he can manage to be mostly coherent, somewhat intelligent and usually insulting. At first I'm offended as I contemplate his last remark, but, as I think it through, I realize that he is absolutely right. This angers me, but I cannot fight the truth.

My mother likes to run away from her problems. When my father died, she ran away to her own little world and blocked everyone out. When the war was over, she ran away to another district so she didn't have to face the wreck of 12 and her criminally insane daughter. And by deciding to run away from _my_ problems, I am acting exactly like her. I am becoming someone I'd never wanted to be like in the first place.

I vowed I would never behave like my mother. I promised myself that I would be stronger than her, that I wouldn't escape to distant places to evade my problems. I grit my teeth and square my shoulders. I know, now, what I have to do. Coming out of my thoughts, I realize that both Peeta and Haymitch are staring at me. And I instinctively know that they've come to the same conclusion I have: I won't be leaving District 12. Whether or not I can help Peeta is a different matter entirely, but I suppose I must try. I owe him that much. After a few more minutes, I finally break the silence.

"Let's go," is all I say to them, taking one last look at the boundary fence, before starting off towards the Victor's Village. I don't know how I'm going to face the next few days, months, even years. But face them I must.


	3. Chapter 2

I sit silently, while gazing out of my living room window, watching as the sun makes its first appearance on the horizon. It glows a brilliant orange, its arms reaching out to caress the great expanse. The hue of the sky goes through subtle changes until it settles on a pristine blue.

Some might say it's beautiful. I deem it the better of two evils.

The night, and what it brings, is gone, and for that I am glad. I hadn't been able to fall asleep last night. I wish I could blame the stifling summer heat that has arisen, but I know the truth. The nightmares have grown in severity, leaving me restless and on edge, afraid to close my eyes for fear of being lost forever amongst the horrors.

Drifting off into unconsciousness is when I am least safe. It is then when I am most fragile and too weak to ward off the evil that is always surrounding me.

I shift my gaze to the immediate scenery, the primrose bushes. They are now in full bloom. My heart seizes within my chest and I am once again reminded that the day also brings to light certain memories. It seems as though I cannot fully escape the recollections of everything that has taken place.

Buttercup appears in this moment and leaps onto the armrest of the chair I am currently seated in. He rubs his mangy nose on my shoulder and purrs softly. I pick him up gently and place him on my lap, nuzzling my face against his coarse fur.

I am too tired to really cry, but a few determined tears manage to break loose and sneak their way down my face. Buttercup lets out a pitiful meow and licks up some of the salty drops from my cheeks. I give him an extra caress or two before straying out of time and place, chasing figments of my imagination on an endless journey of pain.

Greasy Sae finds us like this. She calls out a hello but I make no effort to answer. I'm still deep in my somber thoughts.

At first, Buttercup is content to sit but soon he bolts from within my grasp and I can hear him hiss as he quickly makes his way upstairs. Coming out of my dismal musings, I turn my head and see Audra, the simple-minded grandchild of Greasy Sae, standing in the doorway with a slight frown. Words begin to formulate and I speak.

"Don't mind him, he's just temperamental," I tell her, in an attempt to explain his indifference. "He never really liked me either, but he came around" I add, hoping to satisfy her and wipe the grimace from her face.

She doesn't respond right away but when she does she sounds adamant towards her cause.

"I want a cat," she states, glancing longingly at the staircase Buttercup ascended moments before.

"I'm sure you could find a stray one wandering around the district," I say, trying to placate her.

"I want that cat," she points to upstairs and I am surprised.

If she had asked for Buttercup a year ago I would have gladly given him and his putrid coloured eyes away without a second thought. But, recently he's become special to me and I know I wouldn't be able to let him and his tattered ear go.

"Now, now, Audra," Greasy Sae intercedes, "Katniss isn't going to give you her cat."

"But Nana, why not?!" Audra whines.

Her complaints end promptly and she knows that she won't be getting her way when she notices her grandmother's convincingly stern look.

"Come and help me in the kitchen, Audra." Greasy Sae softly tugs at her hand and she ruefully complies.

I am left alone, once more, with nothing to occupy myself. I contemplate going to help Greasy Sae and Audra, but I can't find the energy. So I sit and continue to stare out the window at the steadily brightening scenery. My thoughts wander and soon I can barely register the sounds emanating from the kitchen.

Eventually I find that my eyelids are drooping and my head is beginning to nod incessantly. I haven't had a proper sleep since the week before, the night that Peeta found me on the floor of the study.

I rearrange myself on the chair, so that my head is resting on my arm. I blink a few times before my eyes slip shut of their own accord. I tell myself that I am only resting my eyes briefly and that I am not going to fall asleep.

I'm on the brink of unconsciousness when I hear my name.

"Katniss? Katniss?" It's Audra.

"Hmm?" I respond groggily, slowly opening my eyes. I'm almost completely thankful, but not quite, that I've been saved from sleep and what it inevitably brings.

"Whatever has happened to your hair?" This comment leaves me momentarily confused and I find myself reaching up to run my hands through the uneven strands.

When I first returned to District 12, I had patches of hair missing and those hairs that were left barely extended to my ears. I have made no attempt to fix it, but it has grown in and begun to lengthen.

"It was burned, along with the rest of me," I finally say.

I feel hands running lightly over my scalp and through the tangled mess atop my head. It feels good. I hadn't consciously comprehended just how much I'd been missing and craving human contact.

"Oh, so those spots on your face and arms…they're burns? I thought you painted yourself," Audra giggles and I try not to show the sting of pain these comments evoke in me.

I've avoided mirrors at all cost since my return. Even a quick glimpse of my reflection in the window can sometimes send me into hysterics. Those are the terrible days. The days where I realize that I finally resemble the monster I really am. They are the days where I am quick to shut out the world by hiding myself in the empty pantry or the upstairs closet.

It's at those specific times when I believe my outward appearance reflects my inner demons and I feel horribly ugly.

"You're beautiful," she adds as she continues to softly stroke the contours of my face.

I am beautiful? My mind scoffs at this preposterous idea. I am not beautiful.

I try as hard as I can to suppress the self-deprecating thoughts, but to no avail. I feel the anger begin to flare as I can't help but find fault with myself. A compilation of sleepless nights, hopeless mornings and absolute self-loathing causes my self-control to snap.

I roughly grab Audra's hands and pull them away from my face. "Leave me alone, now!" I scream, getting up from my chair and turning to face her.

Her statements regarding my self-image make me almost as mad as Greasy Sae's sympathy has. What do they know?

Audra does nothing but stare, her big, wide eyes looking sadly up at me. I hear Greasy Sae yelling something from the garden in the backyard but I ignore it. "I said leave!" I shout again and this time it is emphasized with a push to her shoulders.

Audra stumbles backwards and lands hard on the floor. It only takes a second for her to start crying and that's when I fully realize what I've done. I've hurt poor, innocent Audra. I hear Greasy Sae's firm footsteps hastily approaching.

So I do what I'm best at. I run. I guess I am my mother's daughter after all, I think cynically.

I quickly make my way down the main hall and stumble across the door which leads to the cellar. I swing it open and the darkness looms, ready to engulf me. I momentarily pause, weighing the options of either hiding in this forsaken area of the house or facing the truth.

I plunge into the blackness and decide that I'm tired of facing the truth. I was foolish to think I ever could.

I quietly shut the door, and rush down the stairs. I curl up into myself and huddle at the very back of the cellar. I have a brief sense of déjà vu. I faintly recall breaking into one of the empty Victor houses on the night they announced the Quarter Quell and hiding in a similar enclosure.

My eyes close as I try and perceive any movements or sounds of pursuit. It takes everything in me to remind myself that I am not in an arena awaiting my death. When I don't hear anything, I realize that Greasy Sae is probably only interested in comforting Audra at this time.

I wait in the dampness for what seems like forever when surely it's only been about ten minutes. By the end of that time frame, upstairs has become eerily quiet and all I can hear is my heart beating and my lungs expelling breath.

I'm beginning to think I've become lost in one of my nightmares when I hear two sets of footfalls near the front entrance, and then the slam of the front door. I breathe in a sigh of relief. They're gone. I unfurl myself on the floor and wipe the sweat from my grimy palms.

My relief is short-lived.

Not even two minutes later I hear the front door swing open with a bang. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest and it's as if there are drums pounding within my ears. My palms become clammy once more and my breathing accelerates until it's ragged and fast. It seems like an exaggerated response, but my body is so used to fearing for my life that it is easily sent into survival mode.

I try pursing my lips and breathing as if I'm sucking on a straw. This allows for a more controlled flow of oxygen into my lungs and helps me to calm down enough to listen somewhat attentively to the ongoing confrontation upstairs. There appears to be two people shouting things at each other.

"She can't go around shoving people and losing her temper, especially when it comes to my granddaughter," someone says haughtily. I determine this to be Greasy Sae.

"She's been through a lot," His deep, grumbling voice gives him away. I am convinced that Haymitch's voice can carry through anything.

"I thought she was going to get help, where is this Dr. A-something-or-other? I can't keep dealing with her outbursts. She scares me sometimes. I hate to say it, but I think her silence and unwillingness to do anything was better than this. She's started to feel again, but it's all of the wrong emotions…"

Greasy Sae keeps speaking but I tune out. Who decides what emotions I can or cannot feel? Only I can, and I can't find it in me to feel anything good. What is good about this world?

I pull myself up off the floor and blindly find the bottom landing of the stairs. I still hear voices but I'm not paying enough attention to comprehend what they are saying. I quickly maneuver myself up the flight of stairs and crack the door open. I glance through the small slit and the light momentarily stings my unprepared eyes. When I've adjusted, I notice that Haymitch and Greasy Sae are still in a heated argument at the end of the hallway.

"She's like a ticking time bomb! I'm just waiting for the day she goes ballistic and doesn't come back to reality!" At this point in the conversation, I deem it time to interrupt.

"Why don't you find somewhere, that's not my house, to scream and yell at each other," I begin dully as I swing the creaky cellar door completely open.

As I walk towards where the pair are currently standing at the end of the hallway, I open my mouth to speak again but am quickly cut off by Greasy Sae.

"What the hell were you thinking earlier, young lady?" She demands my answer.

I wait, avoiding eye contact and choosing not to respond.

"Don't you dare play mute again! Given what I've done for you, you owe me at least an explanation as to why you would want to hurt Audra." She crosses her bony arms over her chest and stares me down beseechingly.

"Don't speak to me as if I were a child" is all I mumble, aggravated by her interrogation.

"Well, you certainly acted like one prior to this conversation." Greasy Sae replies stiffly.

Haymitch just stares. I bet he's wishing he were somewhere else entirely. I am too.

"You're not my mother so just -" I'm interrupted once more.

"I might as well be."

The room grows distinctly quieter and the noise of multiple house clocks chiming in harmony becomes somewhat amplified. My fists clench, my jaw tightens and I lock eyes with Greasy Sae.

I then unleash some of my suppressed frustrations, fears and thoughts that have been nagging on me and circulating in my brain for a while now.

"No, you might as well not be! You'll never be my mother. I don't even know why you're here! I never asked you to come and take care of me, so, if you don't like me, get out!"

I continue, too flustered to stop.

"What, did she pay you or something? Did my mother pay you to watch over me? If she did, just forget about it!" I scream.

"Or was it the government? You know, I'm not really used to following government laws so you don't have to come here anymore! I'll break a few more rules and perhaps this time I'll finally get the death penalty!"

There is now absolute silence. The ticking of the clocks becomes radically louder until it's almost too much to bear.

"She's just looking out for you, Sweetheart." His voice cuts through the quiet like a knife and I'm surprised at how even it is.

I turn towards him, ready to give him what for.

"And what about you, Haymitch?" I question, "What are you doing? Are you looking out for me?" I ask imploringly before I continue releasing all of my constrained and bottle-upped emotions.

When he doesn't respond, I don't hold back.

" I've seen you twice in the last few months! You were my mentor! You're supposed to help me and you're supposed to care! I thought you cared."

There's a momentary gap between sentences as my voice catches on the word cared. I don't want to be thought of as weak, though, so I keep going.

"But, apparently I'm not as important as the next shipment of booze. Let's face it, most of the time you're just a revolting, fowl-smelling drunkard with no time for anything but the bottle."

My last words are harsh, but they slip out of my mouth before I can catch them.

As I finish, I realize that my finger nails have been digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood. I also can't stop the shaking in my arms and legs. The last thing I want right now is company. Embarrassed by my blatant expressions of honesty I just want Greasy Sae and Haymitch to leave so that I can compose myself.

"Get out!" I exclaim, but both of them stay exactly where they are, their expressions deadpan.

And so I do the only thing I can think of. The only thing I'm good at doing. I escape; I evade; I run from the situation. I grab my coat, bag and boots before opening my front door. If they won't leave, I will.

As I open the door, I take a deep breath in and smell a pungent, flowery aroma. I feel a light breeze tickle my face and the sun's rays caress my skin. Everything in the outside world is alive. I look around and see the lush green grass emerging from the earth, the tiny droplets of water gathered on the plant leaves and the birds hopping around the yard searching for worms.

Everything inside of me is dead. I search deep within and can't seem to figure out how I can live another minute in this world. I feel angry, empty, hopeless and alone. I glance back at Greasy Sae and Haymitch one more time and then step out onto the porch before my resolve to leave is crushed.

I slam the door and stride down the front steps, unsure of what to do next. I step out onto the middle of the road that runs along the green and just stand for a few moments gazing at the horizon, my mind completely blank. And then I turn, picking a random direction and start walking, boots in hand.

Halfway down the street, I begin to feel dizzy. The anger has abated and I'm once again feeling awkwardly fragile. Each step becomes harder, and it's as if someone has laden me with a very heavy burden. The world begins to spin, and I attempt to take slow, deep breaths as I walk.

I make it all the way down to the end of the Victor's Village, where the empty Victor houses stand, before I faint. My head strikes the pavement hard and I feel a wet, sticky substance begin to ooze from my forehead. Then I'm sucked into unconsciousness.

Specks of light are rapidly turning into streaks, creating cracks in the darkness and the world begins to shine through. As my eyelids flutter, shapes begin to converge. There's a large shadow in the left half of my blurred vision. I squint hard to try and bring the object into focus.

I slowly ease my way into consciousness and gradually gain my vision back, only to find I'm lying on a hardwood floor and Peeta is hovering over top of me. His tongue is sticking out of the right corner of his mouth, his hands are fumbling around my head and he appears to be extremely concentrated.

It takes a full minute to realize he's attempting to tie a bandage around my head. I can't help but giggle as I see the intense focus in his eyes. When he notices I'm coming to, he immediately stops and sits up, awkwardly shuffling back.

"Where are you goin' ?" I drawl out. Now _I_ sound like a drunkard.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asks, and in the back of my mind I realize why he is so hesitant. But, currently, I don't seem to feel the same way. I must have a concussion.

"I'm perfectly fine," I state and then I attempt to sit up. Dizziness ensues and Peeta is just fast enough to catch me. He cradles my head in his hands and then slowly lays my head onto his lap. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"No," As I'm saying this, he's already reaching over to grab something off of a side table.

I try to sit up again, and this time I am more successful. Peeta supports my arm and helps me over to a couch. He hands me two cheese buns, which I greedily accept, and holds out a steaming cup of hot chocolate. After a generous sip, I sigh contentedly.

Peeta takes a seat on the cushion furthest from me. It's at this point that I start to wonder where I am. But as I take in my surroundings, it's obvious. The artwork that adorns the walls is astounding. There are so many different colours and shapes and textures. It's exquisite. It's breathtaking. It's Peeta.

I look over at him, and see that he is cautiously staring at me. I smile. The smallest of smiles graces his features and then disappears. I bite into my cheese bun, taking another large sip of my hot beverage and lean back into the couch, closing my eyes.

"Mmm, so good" I mumble appreciatively before adding, "You can still bake well."

"I just warmed it up," is all he says.

"So it's not fresh?!" I joke, pretending to look shocked. But he doesn't laugh.

"It's from the Capitol," he eventually says.

"Oh," I say, at a loss for words. "Have you baked at all since you've been back in 12?"

"Have you hunted at all since you've been back in 12?" he retorts.

Heavy silence hangs in the air. But then he starts again, this time gentler. "I've tried, a few times, but it took so much…so much." I think he's going to continue, but then he stops speaking.

I think back to last week when Greasy Sae put out a fresh loaf on my table that was so clearly Peeta's bread. It took so much effort, emotion and love on his part to create and craft this something beautiful and full of meaning. And I threw it at a window.

I've hurt Peeta without him even knowing it. Or maybe he does know it and he's just being his typical self by forgiving me anyways. When will I stop owing this boy? The resounding answer is never. How can I help him when I don't even deserve to be near him?

Maybe I have a moment of bravery, but more likely it's the potential concussion, that gives me the courage to try the task of helping him a whirl.

"Does it make you think of them? Baking that is?" I inwardly chastise myself for asking this kind of a question to start, but it seems I can't control my tongue. I definitely have a concussion.

Too bad I can't blame the concussion for my previous conversations this morning I think, before turning my full attention to Peeta. I wait but don't expect an answer. Of course he surprises me.

"I never got to say goodbye."

"Maybe it's easier that way."

"I don't know."

"Me neither."

"At least you've got your mom, right?"

"Sometimes I think it would have been easier if my mom had died too. Prim left me because she had no choice. If my mother had died, she wouldn't have had a choice either. But she lived, and she chose to live without me. And that hurts, almost as much as losing my sister."

I'm picking at my second cheese bun, unsure of what I'm doing. I can't look at him. Not after what I've just said. I was supposed to be helping him, but, as always, it's already come full circle and I'm the one talking about my problems. I close my eyes, willing the tears to stay away, but still I feel them coming on.

Damn concussion.

Strong, gentle hands clasp mine, removing the crumbling remains of food, before soothingly stroking the backs of my hands. I feel Peeta move closer until his body is brushing lightly against mine. I turn towards him, still avoiding eye contact. One of his hands moves until he has two fingers placed under my chin. He gently tilts it upwards, and I have no choice but to look into his cerulean eyes.

"It's not your fault, you know. None of this is your fault, Katniss" he whispers, as he drops his hand to my shoulder where he continues his comforting strokes. I'm not sure what exactly isn't my fault but his words are assuaging nonetheless.

His forehead tentatively comes down to lean against mine and I hear his shaky intakes of breath. I'm sure mine are just as shaky. My eyes are welling with unshod tears but I'm hesitant to give in.

"It's ok to let go," he states in a small voice, as if reading my mind, and any attempts to hide my feelings vanish.

I swallow thickly as the tears start to make their way down my cheeks. I pull away briefly and my hands find their way to Peeta's face. I barely manage to choke out a message of my own in between my ever-loudening sobs.

"It's not your fault either, Peeta." As I say it, his glassy eyes meet mine and I see the grief mirrored there.

"Let go," I murmur.

His eyes are now overflowing with tears, his sobs match mine and so I do the only thing I can think of.

I hold him. And he holds me. I can't make it better, but I can understand. Wrapped in each other's embrace we let ourselves cry.


End file.
